


Heated Debates

by chiarascura



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 05:26:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6142929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiarascura/pseuds/chiarascura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the College AU Prompt Meme<br/>“we always get into these extremely heated debates during lecture which usually culminate in heated shouting matches but i just want to let you know that I actually really love our discourse and i was wondering if you wanted to grab a bite to eat after class today”   </p><p>Same prompt, different stories</p><p>Chapter 1: Anders/Carver Hawke<br/>Chapter 2: Fenris/Hawke</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Carver couldn’t stop fidgeting. He ran his fingers across the edges of his books, brought one hand up to ruffle his hair, shifted his weight on his feet. Despite his big mouth getting him into trouble more often than he would like, he was never any good with confrontation. He leaned against the brick of the fine arts building and watched students pass by.   
  
Finally, after what felt like ages and ages of waiting, Anders stormed through the door with huff.   
  
“Hey, um, wait up,” Carver called out weakly.  
  
Anders spun on his heel and Carver was taken aback by his furious expression. “What is it?”  
  
Carver swallowed and shifted his books to his opposite hand. “I, uh. I just wanted to talk to you.”  
  
“About what?” Anders snarled. “Do you want to make me look like a fool again? There’s no audience here.”  
  
“No, not really.” Carver felt kind of bad. He hadn’t meant to piss Anders off, but somehow it happened in _every single class_.  
  
In all honesty, Carver had signed up for the 1000-level Survey of Western Art because Garrett told him it was a good way to meet girls. Carver is sure that trick worked for him at some point, but Carver crashed and burned every time he approached one of them. After two weeks, he stopped trying to hook up using Garrett’s advice (always a terrible idea) and talked to them like regular people. None of them wanted to date him, but that was okay too.   
  
Instead, he had started to like the class. Sigrun, the TA tasked with teaching the non-majors, was patient with all the students who had never taken an art history course before, and knew so much about each painting that Carver had no idea how she remembered it all.   
  
In one of the first classes, Sigrun showed them some Egyptian sculptures and hieroglyphics found in the pyramids. Carver made a stupid comment, something like “why are all their noses lopped off?”  
  
The thin boy in the front row immediately turned around to shush him. Carver had noticed him scribbling furiously at everything Sigrun said, and so the guy probably assumed Carver was just being funny. Carver glared and repeated his question louder wanting to actually know the answer. This lead to the guy trying to point out how stupid he sounded, which, Carver knew very well how stupid he sounded but he didn’t need anyone else to tell him that, and it had escalated from there. He was sent out of class for raising his voice and fumed the whole way home.  
  
The next incident had been when they studied Medieval portraits of the holy family.   
  
 “That is the ugliest effing baby I have ever seen.” Carver hadn’t even meant to say the words, but his brain-mouth filter sometimes lagged. Some of the girls sitting near him giggled, and Carver started to preen a little bit.  
  
Until the Jackass in the front row turned his scathing glare on Carver again. “They’re not _supposed_ to be cute, they’re _supposed_ to be the Christ child.”  
  
Carver made a face. “Yeah, but, why wouldn’t they make him cute or something? He looks like an old guy. He has abs and a five o’clock shadow and everything!”  
  
More laughter from the class, which seemed to send the Jackass right off. “It represents the adult Christ and foreshadowing his martyrdom. Religious leaders believed that children were just smaller adults, not acknowledging that childhood is a specific stage of life. Or is that too complex an idea for you?”   
  
The Jackass (whose name he knew by now was Anders, but Carver still called him the Jackass in his head) sneered at him and Carver wanted to shove the painting down his throat. This time, Carver kept his head and made inane comments until the Jackass was the one to storm out of class.  
  
Later, Carver felt kind of bad. The guy obviously really cared about the class and the material, but Carver didn’t know what he did to deserve _that_ kind of explosion. He was actually kind of cute, with long hair that Carver wanted to run his fingers through, and a lean, lanky frame that gave Carver some insane desire to feed him.   
  
Now, Carver hesitated. “I just, wanted to talk to you.”  
  
Anders bristled and crossed his arms. “If you want to tell me about how Bronzino’s Venus is ‘super creepy’ or whatever, I have to get to class.”  
  
Carver bit his lip. He had said that the artwork they looked at today was ‘super creepy,’ but it was true! The little cupid pinching her nipple, considering Venus was supposed to be his mother freaked him out, regardless of whether it was a masterpiece or not. “Er.”  
  
Anders rolled his eyes.  
  
Carver gripped the back of his neck with one hand. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to get coffee? Or something?”   
  
Anders narrowed his eyes. “What’s the catch?”  
  
Carver shrugged. “Nothing, no catch. I um, I really like our debates in class even if sometimes they get a bit… heated.” Anders snorted. “So I wanted see if you wanna grab a bite. To eat. With me.”  
  
Neither moved for a long moment. Carver started fidgeting automatically. Anders seemed to accept his nervousness as genuine interest, because he shifted his back on his shoulder and unfolded his arms. “Alright. I have class now but, it’s out in an hour. Meet me at the Hanged Man for lunch then.”  
  
Carver felt his face stretch into a wide grin and he couldn’t help the flush that ran up to his ears. “Great! I’ll be there! Can’t wait!”  
  
The tiny smirk on Anders’ face and the way his cheeks got slightly more pink made his awkwardness all worth it. As long as they didn’t talk about art, they’d get along. Probably. It would interesting, regardless.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> same prompt, this time Fenris/Hawke

“You!” The word had so much venom that Hawke stopped and his shoulders jumped up involuntarily.  
  
Hawke rolled his eyes and looked up to the sky, asking the Maker ‘why me, why today, why have you forsaken this world?’ No answer came forth, so when he looked back down it was into the face of an angry elf.  
  
“Why are you running away from me?” Fenris scowled and the furrow between his brows deepened. Hawke considered the fact that not twenty minutes before, Fenris and Hawke had been shouting at each other at the top of their lungs about Shartan and the Chantry’s erasure of his image in all official religious art.  
  
“I’m not running away. Why are you following me?” The words left Hawke’s mouth before he had any control over them, and he regretted it.  
  
“ _Venhedis_ , you are impossible.” Fenris threw his hands in the air. He pivoted on his heel and stalked away.  
  
Hawke groaned. “What is your problem? You came after me just to yell at me! And you just told me off in front of our whole class and I don’t understand how _you’re_ the wronged party here!”  
  
Fenris turned to glare at him once again, but at least he wasn’t running away any longer. His mouth twitched in a sneer before it fell into a thin line. “I. Wanted to ask you something.”  
  
Hawke waited to see if the question would come. “Then by all means, as long as it’s not inquiring after the size of my brain or the legitimacy of my birth again, ask away.”  
  
Fenris’ eyes slid away and his cheeks slightly darkened. Hawke groaned again, this time at himself. Now he was being the asshole.  
  
Their senior seminar only had eight students, which didn’t surprise Hawke considering the niche market for a class called “Postcolonial and Outsider Art of Oppressed Peoples.” On the first day, Hawke immediately noticed the hot elf with the tattoos and wondered how far down those tattoos ran. The man was stunning, with high cheekbones and a “get out of my space” resting bitch face. Hawke sat on the opposite side of their circle of desks to ogle with maximum efficiency.  
  
When the elf opened his mouth and the smoothest, most gorgeous voice came out of that compact body, Hawke was in love. He knew it. Until. “Humans have destroyed everything good about this world and elves need to organize for the revolution.” Hawke felt his love die in his breast. The lust though, that was still raging pretty hard.  
  
“Excuse me,” Hawke said, not particularly needing an excuse. “I resent that.”  
  
The hot guy rolled his eyes and looked at their instructor Velanna with a commiserating _‘of course the shem would object’_ kind of look.  
  
It was all downhill from there.  
  
Every class witnessed at least one clash between them, usually about the necessity of elves to rise up against the shemlen oppressors versus humans have done terrible shit but that doesn’t mean they all need to die. Hawke supported changing the status quo and dismantling centuries of systemic inequality, but Fenris was far too intense about it. It didn’t help that Velanna wasn’t an impartial judge, and some of the other humans in the class were far too comfortable in their privilege to consider any other viewpoints. The class was a trial.  
  
In the present, Fenris stood before him looking decidedly uncomfortable, and Hawke couldn’t help admiring the man. His shock of white hair was close-cropped on the sides but long enough on the top that Hawke itched to run his fingers through it. That is, after he touched every inch of the white tattoos on the man’s skin, which he sometimes caught glimpses of on the man’s arms or legs when it was warm enough to wear short sleeves. His eyes were so green and most often full of irritation. Hawke sighed a little. If Fenris wasn’t dedicated to hating every inch of his being, Hawke would have asked him out a long time ago.  
  
“I wanted to ask you if you’d like to get some lunch.”  
  
The words were so unexpected that Hawke couldn’t do much but stare at him. “Did I just hear that right?”  
  
Fenris scowled again and shifted his weight on his feet. “I just. I enjoy our _discussions_ ,” and Hawke could see on his face how much it pained him to call their arguments that, “and I wanted to know if you’d want to. Get coffee or something. Now.”  
  
Hawke licked his lips. This was the opening he had been waiting for! “But I thought you hated me.” Unfortunately, Hawke’s brain didn’t kick in in time.  
  
Fenris’ cheeks darkened further, and Hawke’s belly jolted in delight. “I don’t hate you,” he mumbled.  
  
“What was that? You actually enjoy our _discussions_?” Once again, Hawke’s mouth ran further than his brain. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to tease you. I’m just, surprised.”  
  
Fenris seemed to take that as a rejection and his shoulder slumped. “Fine, I won’t bother you again.”  
  
Hawke jumped and stretched out his hand to catch the sleeve of Fenris’ sweater. “No, no no no no, please no.” Fenris’s eyes narrowed, and that probably sounded like even more of a rejection. “What I mean is, no don’t go. I would love to have lunch.”  
  
A small smirk appeared on Fenris’ face. “It’s just like a human, to say one thing and mean another.”  
  
Hawke huffed. “I’ll show you human.”


End file.
